


Of Flights and Being Grounded

by songspinner9



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, memory of being threatened
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 06:46:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10565838
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/songspinner9/pseuds/songspinner9
Summary: Mid-air, an assumption is laid to rest before they can actually, y'know, rest.





	1. Literally up in the air...

**Author's Note:**

> I don't personally know or own the Penguins. This is a work of fiction, even if it is based on real events and the parts of the friendships they've shown us in public.
> 
> Two scenes that popped into my head after that little Sid and Geno friendship article: one from earlier and one inspired by this last week or two. It's the family the Penguins hockey team has formed that lets them keep going and holds them up, on and off the ice. So one from the start of that family forming and one more current.

May 31, 2008

***

« _Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas avec notre ami_?” Flower’s quiet and concerned question in French took Sid a second to translate into English in his head. The plane was quiet after the loss of the fourth Cup game, every man in either asleep or turning inward, thinking about what had gone wrong and what they’d do differently in the next game.

He glanced over in the direction his seatmate had motioned. Geno, who more often than not ended up sprawled over two seats with legs dangling, was sort of huddled into himself in the window seat. The other center’s dark head was down, but he wasn’t reading anything or listening to music, and Sid could see the clenched jaw and the tension in every line of that long body.

“I’m not sure. I’m worried, too. I don’t think it’s just today’s game. I mean, I know he doesn’t take losses well, but he’s looked like that any time he’s been off the ice for a couple of weeks now. And Gonch says he’s been weird on the last few roadies. I’ll talk to him. If he won’t tell Sergei what’s going on, maybe he’ll tell me?”

Marc-Andre shoved Sid’s shoulder with a fond grin. “Good. Go be Captain, but also his friend, _ouais_?”

Rolling his eyes and automatically shoving Flower back, Sid slid out of the seat and went over to plunk himself down in the seat next to Geno. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Geno’s voice was barely audible, which set off an alarm bell in Sid’s head. 

He leaned in a little closer, trying to still give Geno some space, but deciding that the direct approach would be best. “G., what’s wrong?” 

Dark eyes darted up to meet his, full of panic and brimming over with tears, and Sidney could hear rapid breaths. One cold and clammy hand fumbled to grab at his, and he held it cradled in both of his own without a second thought, frantically thinking back to the game to try and remember any hits Geno had taken that seemed bad. He lowered his voice, trying to keep it calm. “Did you get hurt and didn’t tell anyone? Are you sick? Should I get one of the trainers?

Geno shook his head, gripping tighter and ducking down again. “Not…hurt…but t…too much…in head…in here…Sid?”

“Oh, G.” Sid breathed out a sigh at the realization of what was going on. He thought about how to say it so Geno would understand it. “Sometimes when you’re so stressed, uh, your brain can’t keep up. It’s called panic in English - when your brain thinks your body is in trouble so it acts like it is. Trust me, your brain is wrong…you can breathe. It just doesn’t feel like it right now. Happened to me a couple of times when I was a kid. Understand?”

“Yeah. You…st…still…k…kid.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I know. And if you can chirp me, you’ll be fine. Here…” He rested Geno’s shaking hand against his chest so he could feel Sid’s breaths. “We’re on the plane, and the team is here, and you’re safe. Deep, slow breaths with me, okay?” He counted patiently, keeping his voice quiet, until his friend’s breathing slowed down and sounded easier. 

“There you go. Better?” There was a tentative nod, so Sid leaned forward a bit more to rest their foreheads together carefully. 

“Brain stupid,” Geno finally managed to whisper. “Need train more.”

Sid huffed out a breath of his own in rueful amusement. “It’s a pretty good brain most of time, G.”

And then Gonchar was there all of a sudden, crouching down and leaning past Sidney to put his hand on Geno’s shoulder. Flower must have seen what was going on and gotten Sergei. Relieved that someone older was helping, Sid pulled back but didn’t release his hold on Geno’s hand. 

Gonch asked something in Russian, and then again, and finally got a softly muttered answer back in the same language. Another question, another hesitant answer. And another, this time the answer ended in a shaky sigh that made Sid instinctively rub his thumb over Geno’s knuckles to ground him.

“Gonch? What’s going on?” Sid tried not to let his voice sound too desperate, but he was worried and wanted answers now. 

With a sigh, the older man straightened up to lean against the seat in front of them. “He says I should tell you because English is too hard right now. The contract meetings are coming up pretty soon.”

Sidney frowned. “Uh, yeah. Why…?” Then it hit him. “This is about what happened before you came back, isn’t it, G.?”

Geno nodded again, dropping his head all the way down to rest on Sidney’s knees, and Gonch reached down to ruffle Geno’s still-damp curls. “Yes. I know Mario told you some things, but …”

The older man rubbed one hand over his playoff beard. ‘It was…bad, Sid. They had him and his family under lock and key until he signed because he was so tired that he just wanted it to stop. And then they kept him under guard while team traveled. Literal guards, as in someone outside his door, sometimes someone inside his room. No interviews. No contact with his parents. He was followed everywhere. There were…threats against Zhenya, family and friends. Phones were bugged. He was warned his family would be shunned by the whole town and that he might be conscripted into Russian army if he did not sign.”

“Oh, my god.” Sid felt cold. No wonder his teammate was so panicked at the thought of contract negotiations. He could feel Geno’s uneven breaths through the fabric of his pants over his knees and the exhausted weight of his friend’s head now made so much sense. “Gonch, tell him. Tell him he’s safe here, tell him how it works!”

The older Russian spoke quietly for a few moments and Geno’s head finally came up. “Not…not like happen Magnitogorsk?”

“Hell, no, Geno. You’re safe, you get to choose, to say what you want.” Sid bit his lip a little in concern, feeling selfish. “You do want to stay, right? Stay here?”

Scrubbing his free hand over his tearstained face, Geno nodded frantically. That, he obviously understood. “Da. Stay Penguin. Play with you still. But am good enough?”

The burst of Russian out of Gonch at that point was low and hissed, furious and intense. “Zhenya,” he finally said in English, obviously trying to keep his words slow enough to be clear to the younger man, “I know those…those idiots spent a lot of time telling you that you needed more training if you wanted to be good enough to go to NHL. They were wrong and try to keep you with Metallurg when they tell you these lies. Yes, you’re young, but so is Sid…and Kris…and Marc-Andre, and all of you are very talented, still growing in skills. Trust me. You’re good. We want you here, on this team.” 

“G.,” Sid interjected softly. “I’ll ask Mario to be there, if that’s okay. You trust Mario, I know that. You’ll be safe, I promise.”

“Mario good idea.”

“Do…do you want me to be there? I can stay. If it’ll help. I don’t have to be in the room, but I can wait for you.” 

“Yes? Want Sid there. Please.”.

“Okay, G.” He reached out and hugged his friend. “Of course I will. It’ll be okay.”

Sergei gave a tired grunt of satisfaction. “Good. Less stress now. Get some rest, boys.” He got up and messed up Geno’s hair again, grinning at the complaint he got in Russian, and then doing the same to Sidney before leaving them alone. 

“He’s right. We should sleep.”

Geno looked at him solemnly. “Maybe go nap with Flower. Is normal…is…routine for you.”

“Who do you think sent me over here, huh? And anyway, take a look.” He gestured in the direction of his, ah well, his former seat. Flower had put his feet up on Sid’s airplane seat and covered himself with what was probably Sid’s blanket. There was a twinkle in his eyes as he smiled over at the two of them. Sid just sighed; the goalie was only subtle when he was pranking someone. “Don’t think I’m getting my seat back. I can nap here, too. Hang on a minute…” He got up and went to grab another couple of blankets.

Flower poked Sid’s arm with his foot gently as he passed. “Everything okay now?”

“Yeah, I think it will be.” Sid answered softly. 

As he got back to Geno, he tossed him one of the blankets. They both set their seat-tops back a bit so they weren’t entirely upright and tucked themselves in, and the switch clicked as he turned off the overhead light.

“Sid? Thank you.” Geno whispered.

“I’m glad you told me. Are you okay? I mean…” 

“Not scared now. Better.” Geno’s hand rested briefly on Sid’s shoulder. “Good friend.” The last word of his phrase slurred into a huge yawn. “Best captain.”

“Thanks. Sleep, G.” Sidney settled down for a nap. It had been a long day, and he could probably wait to think about the next game until they were on the ground again.


	2. Definitely on the ground...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get to be a bit much, and Geno has an idea of how to help.

April 5, 2017

***

Geno grabbed his bag, lightweight without all the equipment in it, and waited patiently at the edge of the locker room. PT had been a little rough, but he’d felt good out on the ice with Olli. He was so proud of his team for rallying this week, beating two other teams after that awful pair of losses, but getting antsy to get back out on the ice with them. Glancing around, he could see that the press had already invaded to demand answers about Tanger and the others, and the Penguins were scattered to work with trainers, doing post-practice cool-down, or getting ready to go home. 

Taking one look at Sid’s face, the dark circles under his eyes obvious above the slumped set to his shoulders, Geno made a decision. “Sid? Need ride home. Maybe you stay a bit? Tonight in guest room, not be in house alone.”

His captain looked torn between collapsing and vibrating with stress. “To yours? I…yeah. Okay. I think…yeah. I think that would be…that would be good.”

Pulling Sid close with one arm, Geno pushed him toward the exit. “You come home with me, need rest. Some quiet if you need, or I listen…you talk if it help. Can play with my perfect child.”

Sid snorted and hip-checked him. “Your perfect child you complained was keeping you up the other night?”

“Still perfect. Noisy and best.” He grinned down at Sid, waggling his eyebrows to make the other man laugh. 

***

An hour later, Sid’s feet were up on the Malkin family’s coffee table and Nikita was curled up, dozing against his chest and snuffling into his ear while he took slow, measured breaths against the baby’s soft wisps of hair. 

Geno mentally nodded in satisfaction, noting the way Sid’s face seemed less guarded and more open. No more “press face”. He flopped down on the couch next to Sid, tucking up close so that their upper bodies were in contact. From the angle he’d rested his head on the back of the couch, he had a good view of his small son who still filled him with such wonder.

They sat in silence for a while, listening to the quiet hiss of a light snowfall starting up again outside. It took a while for Sid to speak and then words came out softly in a disjointed flood of fears.

“I’m just…I’m worried about everyone. What happened with Tanger. God, I want him to be okay. I wanted him with us for playoffs, y’know? Dales is just back. Hags and Olli aren’t back yet. We have two guys who barely joined us before they got hurt. Kuni’s out. Jake’s just back from his concussion and I still worry. You’re hurt, Geno.”

“Better, Sid. You know this. I go to regular practice soon, maybe game, then playoffs with you. How many times I tell you now? Not your fault. No one getting hurt your fault.” 

“I know, G., but…what if there are more injuries? And the press keeps saying stuff. I know, I know...I don't read it, but then they ask me about it. That it’s bad luck to skate on my line, or…about Flower and trades...I can’t…” 

Geno slid down on the couch a little so Sid could rest his head against Geno’s shoulder, and there was a tremor running through other man’s body. “Press are idiots.” Geno muttered, tamping down his anger at the reporters who’d asked such painful questions of Sid and Flower the past several months. “They not know anything. Ask bad questions, every time, look for reaction instead of true things. Know better than to listen to them. You heard whole team talking when you get thousand points…honor to play with you, Sid. Best.”

“You always say that…” Sid started to answer, but Geno interrupted him.

“And always mean it, Sid.”

There was another long moment of silence. “I just don’t wanna lose anyone. Still hurts from losing Duper, and I know it was the right thing and now he’s safe, but…” 

“But you miss Pascal on ice, in locker room.”

“Yeah.” Sid’s voice wavered a little bit. 

Anna came through and glanced over at them. She reached down to take her sleeping son from Sidney, planting a gentle kiss on Geno’s lips. She turned back to look thoughtfully at Sid for a moment before bending down a little to kiss him fondly on the forehead. Geno murmured his thanks in Russian to her, and the two men listened to the sounds of her walking upstairs to put the little boy to bed. 

They sat quietly again for a bit. “I miss being on line with Nealer,” he offered, his own voice rough, too.

“You miss driving each other and the rest of us crazy.” Sid’s free hand moved up to cover his eyes for a moment.

“Yes. Miss annoying little brother.“ Geno rolled his eyes. “Still annoy when we play in same game. Also when Lazy text me. Chirp all time…not even on same team. Sid…” He kept his voice quiet. “Trades happen. Penguins got Phil, yes? Dales. Hags. Hainsey. Good guys.”

“True.”

“You talk to Flower? What he say?”

Sid burrowed in a little closer. “He doesn’t want to go anywhere. And he and Rutherford are still talking, but that’s private. I really hate this. I made sure he talked to Mario. I mean, I have some ideas. I already put my two cents in, said what I thought.” He added the last bit when Geno was giving him what he knew Sid would recognize as his “English idioms are weird even after a decade” expression.

Geno snorted. “Think most of core has said what we think.”

“I know.”

There was a long moment of silence before Sid’s voice, muffled against Geno’s sweater, could barely be heard again. “He’s my brother, Geno. Him and you and Tanger and Kuni and Duper. Together so long that we’re family. The idea of losing family…”

“Not lost, Sid. Right here, now. Captain can’t control everything. Sometimes get hurt, but get better. But you...me...Penguins for life, remember? We support each other. You did for me when I have injury, we did for you. And now you need sleep.”

“Okay.” Sid was perfectly still, resting against him. 

Geno’s lip quirked in a half-smile. “You not moving.”

“Nope.”

“Guest room. Come on, Sid.” He pulled away a little and tugged at his friend’s hand. “Up. Better in morning, yes?”

“Maybe.”

“Not maybe. Yes. Come on. I start calling you lazy instead of Nealer.”

“Hey!” Sid didn’t sound particularly genuine in his outrage, and let Geno pull him to his feet. 

“You know where extra blankets are.”

Sid’s hand moved from his to rest on his arm. “Geno? Thank you.”

“Most welcome. I forget to look at schedule. When we have to be at plane?”

“10 a.m.”

“My son wake up lot earlier, probably. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind, G. And I’ll set an alarm anyway.”

Geno smiled at his friend and captain. “Good. Get sleep. I make breakfast for whole family in morning.”


End file.
